A funny thing happened on the way to the airport

It’s funny how the most adventure, and fun, can happen when we least expect it?  Or is unplaned adventure the only true adventure?

To set the scene, after a cloudy early morning in Ketchum and many phone calls to the Hailey Airport (KSUN), we headed to Angenie and Peter’s favorite Nordic ski area - Prairie Creek.  For those unfamiliar with Sun Valley’s airport and its challenges, here’s how flying out of Sun Valley works in the winter:

The airport lies at the bottom of a long valley with mountains of 1000-2000’ of prominence on either side.  The valley is about a mile wide.

This alone makes flying into the airport challenging.  It’s not possible to abort a landing at the very last second; a pilot needs to be able to make this decision before dropping below 1000’ above the ground.  Because of this, the cloud ceiling in Hailey needs to be above 1000’ and the pilot needs to be able to see 1 mile before landing.  The good news is that this happens about 70% of the time.  The bad news is that 30% of the time, flights into Sun Valley are either cancelled or diverted to another airport, such as Boise.

What ‘diverted to Boise’ means is a 2-hour bus ride after landing.  Or, if you're trying to take off, it means a 2-hour bus ride before taking off.  Which means getting to the airport 4 hours early instead of 1.  

In other words, after Angenie’s half dozen phone calls, it was pretty clear that we would not be bussing to Boise.  And so we had time to make a trip out to Prairie Creek and skate ski about 15 kilometers.  The weather and views there were phenomenal.  When we wrapped up our skiing around 1:30 p.m. (my fllight was scheduled for 4:50 p.m.) the idea of a flight diversion for weather seemed almoat laughable.

And so it was that when we arrived in Hailey around 3:30 and saw the low-lying fog that had engulfed the airport (and, it seemed, only the airport), it was a bit of a surprise.  And indeed, as we pulled up to the curb at the airport, my phone buzezd with an alert from the Alaska Airlines app.  “Flight cancelled”.

Yikes.  We headed inside to learn about my options.

They were:

1. Drive to Boise and catch the 6:15 flight to Seattle in the morning.
2. Fly to LA out of Sun Valley in the morning, then connect to Seattle.  Arrive Seattle in the evening.
3. Try to take the Hailey to Seattle  flight again the next day.

All flights out of Boise for the evening were full.  There would be no more flights out of Sun Valley today.

I did a quick check of the weather forecast. It looked like it would be snowy and cloudy in Hailey tomorrow.

I went with the early morning option out of Boise.

The next stop was the car rental counter.  I asked a few folks if they were driving to Boise.  No, either their car was full, or they had just come *from* Boise via a bus because of their diversion.

It was starting to look like I’d be driving myself to Boise.

And then a small woman came hustling over.  “You’re going to Boise?”  We both were on the 6:15 to SEA out of BOI.  We would drive together.  We had the same first name and she seemed quite nice - not like a murderer at all.

It turned out that she already had a rental car and just wanted to return it to a different location, so about 30 minutes after arriving at the airport, I was in her rental SUV and we were driving through the fog.

I took the role of navigator and hotel-searcher.

She kept thinking.

“I just had a thought”, she said.  “I’ll call the Alaska MVP desk and see if they have any spots available on earlier flights.”.

In hindsight, the idea was a bit far-fetched.  We were just at the airport talking to someone from the airline.  The last flight from Boise to Seattle was scheduled for 8:45, and it was full.

But it turned out that there *was* another flight, and it took off at 7:40.  At this point it was about 5 p.m., and Google Maps estimated it would take 1 hour, 57 minutes to get there.  “We can make it,” I said.

Because of spotty cell coverage, it took several calls to Alaska, using both of our phones, to get things sorted out.  At one point, because of confusion over a shared phone and shared first names, I was the one with a confirmed reservation for 7:40.  (I realized this when I went to the Alaska Airlines app to find more info about the flight).  The Alaska Airlines app did tell us that there were already 7 people on standby.  Yikes.

The drive went quickly.  I learned about MVP programs for airlines. (No change fees.  Bonus miles.  Free upgrades. ‘Being treated like a human’.). I learned about other-Susan’s volunteer work in Nepal.  She had a black lab.  Kids on the east coast.  And she never seemed to give up.  Never lost her calm.  Loves Sun Valley.  

When other-Susan learned that there was a 7:40 flight to catch, the gas was applied a bit more liberally.  We were at the rental car return by 6:40.

Things are the Alaska Airlines counter did not go as smoothly as the drive.  Other-Susan checked her luggage, aided by the MVP line (or lack of a line).  She tried to make some magic to get me on the flight.

The woman working at the counter was pretty sure it wouldn't be possible to put me on standby for the 7:40 flight.  I was scheduled to fly the next day. My original reservation was for tomorrow.  My origin wa supposed to be Sun Valley.  So !any problems that the computer couldn’t handle. There was no way to get me on standby, get me past security.

The minutes ticked by.  7:03.  7:04.  She called over Maria, who had worked there for 30 years.  Her presence magically helped resolve the problem. Just like pair programming.

With the key to the security gate, we headed over there quickly.  TSA pre-check was supposed to be our key past that line, but there wasn't a pre-check line there.  Not at that time.

7:12.  The flight was boarding by the time we got to the gate.  Other-Susan boarded.   My hopes were up when a gate agent said that ‘a bunch of people hadn't boarded yet.’. I heard ‘15’.  But then a bunch of people showed up at the gate.  At least 10.  Sigh.

I took a seat and waited.  There were a number of other folks hoping to make it on the flight.  Based on what I’d seen on the Alaska Airlines app (7 on standby), my chances looked grim.  

But then I heard my name called.  Telling me to go to the podium.  I nearly fell over myself picking up my boots and two bags to get there as fast as possible.  I wanted to call out “I’m here!”.

It was a miracle.  I made it onto the plane.

I lie.  It wasn't a miracle.  It was the work of one person who persisted to help out someone - me - for no good reason.  She persisted in somehow getting me to the front of the standby line. (After doing some research, I learned that it's not even possible for non-MVP people to be added to a standby list.) But I will be eternally grateful for it and cherish the memory of what - to me, for that day - was an angelic act.

I hope to be able to pay it forward some day, some how!

Home

I was recently traveling for a month - a week in India, 3 in Nepal.  But this post isn't about my travels in these countries; they're about home.

That time in Nepal included a 16-day trip to the Himalayas.  We hiked every day.  "Rest days" actually meant climbing up a nearby hill, though not with our (heavy) overnight packs.  "Hills" meant, for example, hiking from 15,500' to 18, 500'.

It was a trek through one of the most amazing mountain regions in the world:  we got to see several 8000 meter peaks (Everest, Cho Oyu, Makalu) as well as the stunning Ama Dablam.  We had fun trying to capture our experience with photos and videos.  Some clear evenings I had the pleasure of taking pictures of stars and doing time-lapse photography of them, too.  The weather was consistently perfect every morning; we joked about nearly everything; the trip went just as planned.

Despite all this, about halfway through this trek I started thinking about home.  I started thinking about what it would mean to not have frost on the inside of a bedroom window in the morning.  What it would be like to be able to wash my hands after a dirty, dusty day of hiking.   About washing my hair.  About how badly I smelled.  Even my Patagonia nano-puff jacket reeked of sweat.

I thought about how great it would be if I could sleep through the night without getting a headache from dehydration.  And not needing to struggle with an aging water filter to purify 4 liters of water every day.   And not have to carry toilet paper with me at all times.  (Public toilets never include toilet paper in Nepal).  I daydreamed of the flush toilets that I knew existed in Namche Bazaar, where we'd spend a night on our way back to Kathmandu.  Being able to sit down to take care of that business sounded like a luxury.

And I daydreamed about oxygen.

Many of our days we reached altitudes over 18,000', where the density of air is only half of what it is at sea level.  This means that each breath only contains half the oxygen that we sea-level-residents are used to.  Not only does this mean that every uphill step is significantly harder; it also means that hikers are susceptible to maladies like acute mountain sickness (AMS).  For me, this only meant the occasional headaches.  But on top of the headaches that I was getting from dehydration and other minor issues, it meant that I had headaches much of the time.

I daydreamed of home, which had all these things, plus a very sweet boyfriend I hadn't seen in a month.  Perhaps, I reasoned, it would be possible to move my flight a day earlier; that way I would have an extra day to recover before flying to California for my next work trip.   Or perhaps, as it became apparent that we'd wrap up our trek a day earlier than planned, I could fly home two days early.  That would mean a full day and a half to just be home.

A day and a half to lie in bed.  Maybe watch a movie.  Or maybe turn of the electricity and just read.  And lie in bed.  It sounded amazing.

The interesting thing to me was were the many things that I didn't miss.

In general, I didn't miss any particular food.  Or email or the internet.  (We had some opportunities to pay for wireless internet that I passed up.)  Or movies or cars.  I didn't particularly miss my responsibilities back in Seattle: paid work and unpaid work that I do.  Does this mean that none of these things are important to me?  No.  But perhaps there are some clues here about what I should focus on if happiness is the metric I'm trying to optimize?  Or perhaps one should not base life decisions on experiences during vacation.  I really don't know.

But anyway, back those thoughts of being home.... Upon our return to the world of internet, I started investigating what it would take to return home two days earlier than planned.  The cost wasn't prohibitive, so I made the call to make the change.

And so it was that on Saturday November 8 I returned home, a mere 32 hours after I left my hotel in Kathmandu.  Charlie and I slept. We talked.  We slept more. We talked.  (We had lots to catch up on!)  We slept.  We walked to our favorite bagel shop.  We talked.  We fixed up some things at home.  We treated ourselves to the expensive grocery store in our neighborhood.  We made dinner.  We talked (we hadn't been so excited to see each other in ages!).  We slept.  We talked.  We slept.  Monday arrived and after more talking, eventually made it into work.

Rainier via Kautz Route (June 7-8, 2014)

I hadn't done in a trip with Gerhard in a while, and knowing that his usual climbing partner was out of commission with a broken hand, I asked him if he'd like to get out and do something; Rainier was one of the options I threw out.

He responded that he might be interested in Rainier; he suggested Liberty Ridge as a possibility.  I didn't know the specifics of the Liberty Ridge route, but when news broke the next day that six AAI climbers were missing from the Liberty Ridge route, I suggested that maybe we consider other options.

The Kautz Glacier ended up being our route of choice for the weekend, and the weather forecast held... and so it was that we found ourselves getting permits at the Climbing Information Center around 11 a.m. on Saturday June 7.  When we asked the ranger if anyone else was heading up the Kautz Glacier who had registered, he replied that there was a party heading for the Kautz Headwall, but no one for the Kautz Glacier.  When I expressed surprise at how few people were planning on heading that direction, he double-checked and realized that indeed, there was a party of 6 heading for the Kautz Glacier the next morning.  (We later saw 9 on the route.)

Fortunately, a recent trip to The Sisters had reminded me how heavy an overnight pack can feel and how much of a challenge altitude can add.  So when our pace up the Turtle can be was turtle-like, I wasn't too surprised.

Neve Penitentes by a bivy spot on the ridge.

There were at least 4 tents already in place by the time we arrived at 7 p.m., but we found a decent spot half-covered with ice; we added snow to level out the spot, started making water, and were in bed at 10 p.m.  Winds were light to non-existent; the temperatures dropped only a bit below freezing (evidenced by freezing in my hydration tube in the morning, which had been stored in my pack).

View from our tent site.

We planned to wake up at 4 a.m. and start moving at 5, but since our neighbors had left later than they planned (around 4:30 - 4:45), I didn't mind getting a slower start (we actually left at 5:20 a.m.) so that we could let them get through the gully near camp (which has a fixed line) before we got there.

Gerhard checking out the fixed line near camp to get to the glacier Saturday evening.

After rappelling the gully and then roping up we started up the ice steps.  The ice sections were OK, but I wish I would  have sharpened my Grivel air-tech axe.  (Or perhaps that that wouldn't have helped?)  Certainly the Petzl Quark was much more effective.  Gerhard led the way, placing a single screw (on the 2nd pitch, which we agreed was more challenging). Gerhard also threaded the rope through the neve penitentes so that the rope would catch if he did fall.

After we got through the ice sections, it was about 7:45 a.m..  This brought us to 12,000'.  (800' of progress in 2.5 hours.)

The ice steps, as viewed from near camp  Some of the snow is just a thin layer over ice.

The route was much more straightforward from here, and in the next 2.5 hours worked our way up another 2000'.  Despite having skis and skins with us, conditions dictated that we'd have to carry them... and so we huffed and puffed our way up to the top.  Like the guides say:  "Pole, pole".

Perhaps the most surprising sight of the day was a fox that Gerhard spotting heading toward the crater rim (away from us). I had no idea they went that high on the mountain!

The wind was quite strong at the crater rim, and even stronger at the true summit.  (I'd guess 30+ mph.)  Just 20' below we found a much friendlier spot, relatively wind-free.  We ate and stowed the rope, sat down, and watched other groups reach the summit.  It felt really very nice to be able to just sit and relax there.  We weren't in any particular hurry, since we were hoping that the snow would soften up a bit before we headed down.

At the top, trying not to be blown away.

After close to an hour we left our perch.  We chatted with a group of our neighbors and decided to take a slightly different route down; this route was the route that's actually shown in the Gauthier guidebook; the route that we had taken up had seemed like the obvious way to go, but is on the other side of the Wapowety Cleaver.

The "standard" route has the advantage of being southeast facing, and given how icy our route was on the way up, we weren't certain that it would have corned up in 90 minutes for the on the trip down and liked our chances better on the "standard" route. Given how icy the snow was when we flipped over the ridge at 13,000', I'm glad we made that choice.

Our route: Red is up, Blue is down.  (Accidentally turned off GPS around 11,700' on the way down)

The snow off the top was actually what could be described as "packed powder".  Down lower there was some snow transitioning to corn.  Unfortunately when things were in ideal corn shape, we were futzing our way down the ice chute.  Things were quite sloppy down low (below ~8000').

We opted to belay the downclimb of the last 20-30 meters of the 2nd (upper pitch of ice), rather than rappel, using a V-thread.  (Backed up with 2 screws for the first down-climber).  The lower pitch was bypassable on climber's left.  That is, on that side we could use the neve penitentes as steps / handholds in many places.  It was my first time downclimbing ice like that before!

We knew that one of the obstacles to getting back to camp would be the gully that we rappeled down on the way up in the morning.  We had the option of bypassing this and skirting the icefall above us, but instead we opted to prusik up the fixed line.  I finally got to put that prusiking practice to good use!

Things were faster than I expected getting back to the car from camp.  Only 90 minutes back, including the climb up to Glacier Vista!  At 6:30 p.m. we were back at the car, satisfied with a challenging but fun third trip up Rainier.

Many thanks to Gerhard for a great trip.

Timeline
Saturday -
7:45 a.m. - Leave Seattle
10:45 a.m. - arrive Paradise
11:45 a.m. - start from Paradise lower lot
4:40 p.m. - base of Turtle
7 p.m.  - Arrive at camp at 11,200'

Sunday -
4 a.m. - Awake
5:20 a.m. - Leave Camp
7:45 a.m. - Done with Ice steps
10:20 a.m. - top of Kautz Glacier (near Point Success, 14,000')
11:00 a.m. - Arrive Summit
11:50 p.m. - Depart summit
2:30 p.m. - Done with descent of first pitch
4:30 p.m. - back at camp
5 p.m. - Leave camp
6:30 - back at Paradise lower lot

Equipment:
* 60m 8mil rope
* Petzl Quark ice tool
* Grivel Air Tech Evo ice axe
* 6 screws total (used max of 2 at once)
* Skis, boots, poles
* Beacon, shovel, probe
* Lightweight 3-season tent

Weather: 

Some clouds (mostly below us, except on Saturday)

Summit: around 20 degrees, 30-40 mph winds (less just south of summit)

Link to more pictures on flickr!

Play day on the Sulphide

Ever since I'd heard of skiing the Sulphide several years ago, the idea sounded intriguing.  Back in 2007 I summited Shuksan via the Fischer Chimneys route (I didn't even own any skis at the time; we were on foot).  And I'd been curious about what the rest of the Sulphide Glacier looked like (from the Fischer Chimneys route, one only gets a glimpse of the upper part).  And unlike many skiers, I really enjoy flat, mellow runs that I can straightline while I watch the scenery go by.  Glaciers can be really good for that.

So after three days of good weather (Saturday - Monday) entered the forecast last week and Carla suggested the idea of doing three days of skiing, I didn't mind taking a vacation day.  June is a great month for skiing in the Pacific Northwest: long days and snow starting at 4000' or lower.  The only tricky part is finding good weather windows; our dry summers don't really start until July 4.

So after an easy, short day from Heather Meadows (around Table Mountain) and a moderate day on Mt. Ruth, we drove to Shuksan from Bellingham, departing at 5:15 a.m. and arriving at the trailhead at 7.  (We stopped for gas, coffee, and bathroom en route.)  I had never driven to that trailhead (Shannon Ridge) before, and had never been that far down Baker Lake Road.  What a fun drive!  Until the pot-holed, dirt section began.  The potholes in that section threatened to swallow the Saturn whole.

There were two other cars at the trailhead, but by about 6000' we'd seen both parties descending (on foot).  We had the entire mountain to ourselves!  We didn't see anyone after that until we were nearly back at the cars.

By 7:15 we were on our way.  The trailhead is at 2600' and patches of snow started around 3000'; by 4000' it was consistent.  We put on skis and skins when we got to the start of the ridge at 4600'.

The snow was a bit firm and steep just below the col at 5400', but fine without ski crampons.  The view of the steepish slope that we needed to traverse after leaving the col gave me pause.  It looked really steep!  I threw on ski crampons, though they really weren't necessary, and a pre-existing skin track made things easier.  The soft snow was well-enough behaved for our traverse.

We continued onward and upward, doing some heavy snacking at 6400' before continuing up to the base of the summit pyramid.  The views of Jagged Ridge and Mt. Baker did not disappoint.  The views of the summit and the sea of white below lured us on.  The summit itself looked steep enough to be impossible to climb.

Around 12:30 we made it to the base of the summit pyramid: 8400'.  I have to admit that getting there was a bit anitclimactic.  Clouds had started to roll in; enough to obscure views.  And we hadn't brought equipment (ice axe, rope, etc.) to go to the summit, since we figured we wouldn't have the time or energy to do so.  But it was still a wonderful day in a beautiful place.

As clouds near us started to get taller and closer, they helped motivate us to start moving from our lunching high-point.  Around 1:15 we started down; at about 2:30 we were taking our skis off at 4000'.  At 3:30 we were back at the car, trying to figure out what to do with ourselves and the rest of the day.  Enjoying the other awesome thing about June - the lack of mosquitoes - we lingered for about an hour at the trailhead, drinking our beer and ginger ale, doing some reading, even making a cell phone call.  (Yes, there was cell reception at the trailhead!)

What a fun day!

Jury Duty in King County, Washington

A few weeks ago I went to King County Superior Court to fulfill my jury duty.  There was a lot of information that wasn't communicated to me that I would have liked to know in advance of jury duty about how it works, so I'm writing it down here in the hope that it helps someone else.  Note that I never served on an actual trial, but I was selected to be in jury pools for 2 different trials.

"The length of one trial" - My summons for jury duty did not explicitly say that jury duty was at least 2 days.  It said "2 days or the length of a trial".  I had no idea how long trials lasted, but assumed they were usually pretty short and that 2 days was the maximum, but it's actually the minimum.  When we arrived at the courthouse, however, a judge told us that trials in her courtroom were usually at least a week and a half long. Apparently there's large variances in the length of a trial; a DUI case might last just one day, but some complex lawsuits can last 4 weeks or more.  Jurors are expected to schedule their jury duty for a time when they can be available for 2-4 weeks for a trial.  That is, when they don't have any vacations / trips scheduled, etc.  It would have been great to know how long trials can last, both in terms of scheduling and setting expectations for coworkers, etc.

The lower your number, the more likely you are to actually serve on a jury.   In one of the trials I was part of the jury pool for, 50 jury candidates were selected.  I was juror #31.  The judge wanted 13 jurors. 18 jurors in front of me (of jurors #1-30) would have needed to be dismissed for reasons of hardship, peremptory challenge, or other challenge in order for me to make it into "the box".  As it was, only 5 or so jurors were dismissed, and I got nowhere near the jury box.  Superior court cases require 12 jurors + 1 or more alternates.  District court cases require 6 jurors + 1 or more alternates.  When I showed up for jury duty, I was surprised to see how many people had been summoned: there were about 200 of us in the jury assembly room.

Juries don't meet on Fridays.  That's right -- if you're selected for a jury for a trial that lasts 2 weeks, you'll only need to be at court Monday - Thursday.  I don't know why the court works that way, but it does.

You will be paid $10 per day for your service, but don't expect to be paid that day.  They don't hand out ten-dollar bills that you'll be able to use to pay for lunch.  You'll be paid in the mail in a month or so.  If you aren't convinced to donate your compensation to the courthouse daycare facility (which I was).  Also, I find the $10/day payment comical.  If we paid jurors a reasonable amount for their time (minimum wage, at least), perhaps the legal system would use jurors' time more efficiently.

There is wifi at the courthouse.  There was some glitch with the portal setup, so the Chrome browser will refuse to connect to the portal (where you agree to terms of wifi use), but once you use Safari, Firefox, or some other browser to "sign in", you can use Chrome just fine.  You can use your laptop, smartphone, etc. in the jury assembly room, but not in the courtroom.  While waiting to be selected for a jury pool, there is plenty of free time.  I can't recall the speed of the connection, but I don't recall it being too bad.

You will have about 1.5 hours for lunch each day.  Lunch breaks are quite generous.  I found that this was plenty of time to walk to Pike Place Market and stroll around.

There is a jury orientation on your first day.  This involves watching a video and listening to a judge speak.  I found this pretty informative, since this was my first time going to jury duty.

You don't need to be at the courtroom at 8 a.m. every day, just the first day.  My second day I didn't need to be at the courtroom until 8:45 a.m.

Goodbye, Coach Collins

This morning I got the news, a bit late, that Coach Collins passed away last Thursday.  (http://www.eagletribune.com/local/x1196448741/End-of-an-era) The news wasn’t completely shocking; at the age of 82 he wasn’t a spring chicken any more, and his health wasn’t perfect, either.

What was more surprising than his passing was how powerful the news was to me and how deeply saddened I’ve been since hearing the news, despite the fact that I haven't seen him in over a decade.

I spent about an hour this morning reading his memoirs “The Word Quit Does Not Exist”.  My perspective since it was published, when I was 19 (I’m now 36) has changed significantly.   Growing up in Andover, Coach Collins’ dedication was not nearly as astounding to me as it appears from the perspective of a software engineer, where people change teams, projects, or companies every few years.

Coach Collins taught and coached football and track and field at Andover High for 37 years.  In the summers, he taught at Phillips Academy.  Did he ever have a free minute for himself in all those years?  I can’t imagine that he possibly could have.  I, on the other hand, grumble about volunteering just a fraction of my free time to teach climbing and backcountry skiing.  And yet he gave so much that in return he received much joy in the form of love that his students and athletes gave to him.

I remember wondering why Coach Collins wrote his memoirs back in the day, shortly after he retired.  It seemed like somewhat aimless storytelling.  Where, exactly, was the plot?  Now I see his book as a gift to all of us, the community of Andover, sharing our successes and reminding us of the good that is in all of us; he spoke ill of no one.  And in it, we again receive the gift of his wit, wisdom, and values; we learn about his own heroes.

In a time when I find it hard to find people whom I genuinely look up to, Coach Collins stands out as someone I truly respect and admire.  I will never be someone of his stature, but if I had 1% of his skills as a speaker, leader, and coach; 1% of his generosity… for just one day, I would be truly happy.

It’s funny, the random things that I remember about him, too.  “Never curse a ballpoint pen,” he said when he tried to write something on a piece of paper posted on his door but failed as gravity fought against him.  There was some story about him receiving a scholarship from a ballpoint pen company.  I think about that every time I can’t get a ballpoint pen to work.

Sometimes when I close a presentation I’m giving, I find myself asking, “Any questions, comments, or words of wisdom?”  That’s how he closed every class, and it still works today.

I loved his system of coaching track & field that rewarded everyone for hard work, in a sport where talent is more often praised.  When I tell my current friends of our track team that had over 150 members, they’re astounded.  It was the fairness of system that drew people to it.  More people working hard meant more success.  And more success drew more people.

I learned of Coach Collin’s passing this morning when I picked up my phone after returning home from my early morning run.  If it hadn’t been for his fairness, his reputation, and success as a coach, I may never have considered quitting the softball team to join the track team.  If it hadn’t been for Coach Collins, I might not have started running and enjoyed running in college; might not have made so many friends through running; might not have explored many places around the world through running; might not have maintained a high level of fitness by running.  The gift of running was one of his great gifts to me.

His smile from those many years ago shines through brightly as I think of him.  He seemed so genuinely happy to work with us and see us. He clearly cared about us - his students, his athletes, his colleagues, his community. I wish I could see his smile and shake his hand again.

Thank you, Coach Collins.  I miss you so much.

Argonaut

We'd been hoping to do Argonaut on a nice fall day (we'd heard that fall was a nice time to be there), but for some reason it was the best thing we could come up with for a 50%-chance-of-showers-and-cloudy weekend.

We'd been checking the weather models every 6 hours or so and decided that we'd have dry weather until 3 p.m. on Saturday and all day Sunday, which would be just right for a 7 mile approach on Saturday and a climb and de-proach on Sunday.

It turns out that weather models aren't always spot-on.

For example, when we pulled into the parking lot just before 11 a.m., it wasn't raining, but it started doing so almost as soon as we opened the door.  Sigh.  After getting ready much more slowly than usual, and putting on our boots while snug inside the car, and even reading some comics in the newspaper, we finally decided that the rain had tapered off enough that we should start our trek to camp.

I decided that it was the perfect trip for an umbrella, so I stuffed a leopard-skin-print one in my pack as we headed out.

We were pleasantly surprised to not be rained during our trip to camp; it didn't rain while we set up camp, did arts and crafts, napped, or cooked dinner, either.  In fact, as we got ready for bed, we could spy hundreds of stars through the trees above us.

Arts and crafts time at camp

The next morning it seemed to take forever for the sun to rise; it was just light enough to start our bushwhack uphill at 6:40 a.m.

According to most reports, one can avoid most thrashing about if you head straight uphill from the junction of the Ingalls Creek and Fourth Creek trails and stick to game trails.  Apparently we were following game who stuck to only one topo line for their entire lives, for we seemed to find innumerable trails that traversed, but only one or two that actually went uphill at all.

In the end, we ended up doing some thrashing.  My hopes of ascending anywhere near Charlie's estimate of 1000'/hour were dashed.  (After our last trip together, my estimate was a fair bit slower than that).  However, the thrashing didn't last too long, and after that the going was quick all the way up to ~7600', where things steepened a bit.

The crux was, advertised, the 50' up to the east ridge.  We didn't rope up for its ascent, but we did for the way down, and as the wind howled and the route started to look even steeper on the way down, I was glad we did.  (For some reason, it was quite windy in just that section).  The summit block itself was good fun; the only disappointment was the complete lack of views to the north.  And much to my surprise, we had still averaged 1000' hour (for a total time of 4 hours), despite our thrashing!

 The summit block.  You can't see the deep hole to Charlie's right!

Charlie descending the summit block

It was fun to see that the new summit register, 3 months old, had about a half dozen parties in it, three of them with Washington Alpine Club representatives.

Charlie rappelling down from the east ridge

Other than cranky knees, the way down was relatively smooth.

We decided that we had time to spare for a shortcut, so we took a different way back down to the Ingalls Creek trail with the hopes of avoiding slide alder.  We were relatively successful for much of the way, but no bushwhack is complete without at least some of it.  Let's just say that if you end up on our descent route, you might keep an eye out for a pair of thin OR gloves in some slide alder.  They weren't attached to my pack very securely....

We ended up swinging a bit further east than intended (the fall line led us that way), but still ended up getting down faster than our way up (which is often not the case for us when the going is steep or tricky).  It took us 3:40 to get back down to the trail (and then another 15 to get back to camp).

The weather had treated us relatively well so far, but at about 5 p.m. we noticed the skies getting significantly darker.  Yikes.  A few minutes later the skies opened up.  Thank goodness I had my backcountry umbrella!

The ranger in the parking lot sounded surprised when we told him we had done Argonaut.  I don't think he's used to seeing climbers carrying umbrellas!